


Spoiled Goods

by Lexx_Ishi



Category: X-Men Evolution
Genre: Chaptered, Language, Lemon, M/M, Minor Violence, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-07-27 08:34:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7611091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexx_Ishi/pseuds/Lexx_Ishi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Multi-chapter. Captured by Trask forces, Pietro is brutalized while Lance is forced to watch. After their escape, the two have only each other to rely on to heal from wounds both emotional and physical, and maybe explore a budding relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Title: Spoiled Goods

Author: Lexx Ishi

Disclaimer: X-Men: Evolution and all characters are owned by Marvel Studios. No profit is being earned from this fan piece.

Pairings: L x P

Warnings/Ratings: Rated M for rape, M/M, minor violence, and strong language.

. ~ . . ~ . . ~ .

His first conscious thought was that he had a splitting headache. A gigantic headache. A piercing migraine the likes of which he hadn't experienced since before Mystique put him through training and he got better control of his powers.

With a groan of misery Lance rolled over, trying to wake up and recall what the hell he had been doing before that would have lead to waking up with such bodily pain. He almost fell off whatever it was he was lying on, having to catch himself with a hand on the hard surface under his shoulder. It was cold metal. He didn't make a habit of sleeping on metal.

Lance's eyes popped open.

Bright lights overhead. Immediately stabbing pain shot from his eyes to the inside of his skull. He shut them again, let go of the 'bed' to sit up and grab his forehead with both hands. "Rrg!" he groaned wordlessly, trying to crush out the pain with the pressure of his fingertips against his temples.

"Oh you finally awake?" a voice chattered quickly from nearby. "'Bout damn time."

Lance gave a growl in response to Pietro's condescending tone. With one hand moving down to shade his eyes from the bright overhead light, the teen cautiously opened them again and took in his surroundings.

It was the sight of the cell bars in front of him that brought his memories blasting back to the front of his mind. Late night food run with Pietro, someone ramming the jeep from behind, no headlights behind to warn them. There was a shallow ditch beside the road; they bounced down the incline. Pietro flipped over the passenger door, hadn't been wearing his seat belt. Lance worried as he wrestled with control of the steering wheel, but the slide into the ditch had killed a lot of their momentum already and the speedy teen always had quick enough reflexes to catch himself.

He remembered grinding the jeep to a halt in the ditch, jumping out to face their attackers. Memories were hazy after that, but he remembered hearing Pietro cursing nearby at one point, which was one less thing to worry about. Unlike the silhouettes of men with guns—soldiers with guns—lined up just beyond the glow of the jeep's headlights. That was the worry. He lifted his hands to shake the earth and then froze when he heard the sound of guns cocking.

There wasn't anything after that but a memory of sharp pain.

The cell was small, not much bigger than a place to stand and pace next to the metal shelf bolted to the wall that had been the 'bed' he woke up on. Across the hall, Pietro stood in a similar cell, leaning against the bars, studying Lance with a frown. His foot was tapping with impatience, but he looked to be in one piece.

"You didn't run?" Lance grumbled, rubbing at his pounding head. Why the hell wouldn't this headache go away?

Pietro rolled his eyes at the comment. "There were two SUV's tailing us, the second one came in after the first one hit us. We were surrounded." Pause. "Otherwise I would have."

Lance ignored that, puzzling over the new information. He didn't get it. Two cars of trained men, going after the two of them in the middle of the night. That meant planning. That meant someone with power had ordered them to be tracked down. Someone wanted them captured alive. That took a lot of effort. But what for? And how had they found them?

"This was planned," Lance muttered. "By who?"

Pietro's voice was hard. "The side of the trucks said Trask Industries."

Lance lifted his head. "Trask?" His stomach flipped unpleasantly. "He was arrested after the Sentinel thing. It was all over the news. They shut down the program."

Pietro leaned against the bars of his cell. "Sure they did. Obviously."

Uncomfortable silence fell over the two youths. 'The Sentinel thing' was still a sore subject in the Brotherhood household, so by unspoken agreement it wasn't brought up. Lance didn't like being played, and Magneto had been playing them all. With Pietro's help.

Lance didn't have time to dwell on that now. He stood up from the cot bolted to the wall. "Whatever. We're getting out of here. Stand back." It was a mostly useless order, since there wasn't a whole lot of room to move in the small cells, but Pietro took a step away from the bars. He limped slightly with the movement when his left leg came down on the floor; the brief motion didn't go unnoticed by Lance, who figured that was the real reason why the quick teen hadn't bolted after the jeep went off the road. He was usually very good at saving his own skin.

Lance raised both hands and tried to command the ground to shake, but his headache spiked to blinding agony, stabbing him behind the eyes. He groaned and, dizzy, grabbed the bars to steady himself. One hand came up to rub his head and he touched something small and hard in his hair, just behind his ear.

Across from his cell, Pietro snorted. "Yeah, that's what I figured would happen," he declared. "I didn't think they'd just let you shake things up."

"What the hell is it!?" Lance tried to pull it off, but it was embedded in his skin. It felt flat and rectangular. "What the fuck!?"

"Looks like a microchip or something," remarked the shorter male.

Lance fought down panic. "It won't come off!" The concept of not being able to use his powers was very unpleasant. He hadn't felt this helpless since before he discovered he was a mutant. Lance didn't like feeling helpless. He tried to dig his fingernails under the chip and pry it off, even though it hurt like hell.

"Hey hey wait!" insisted the other teen, watching what he was doing. "That thing could be connected to your brain or something. You want to give yourself a lobotomy yanking it off?"

Lance groaned and let it go, rubbing his forehead.

. ~ . . ~ . . ~ .

TBC... 


	2. Chapter 2

Lance tried not to touch the thing on the side of his head, which stung in an annoying, distracting way. He squinted at Pietro in the cell across from him. "They didn't put one on you? Why?"  
  
Pietro shrugged. "Because you're the only one who can make the roof cave in?" he guessed.  
  
Lance glanced around their new accommodations. The walls were metal, dully reflecting the overhead lights back into his eyes (doing nothing for his headache). On the wall beside each cell was a long computer panel, adding to the feeling of some high-tech military complex, but there was no real indication of where they were being held. If this was Trask Industries, how had they known so much about them? They had tracked them down in Bayville, knew what their powers were. None of this was good.  
  
"So how long've we been here?" Lance asked, almost rubbing his head again before stopping himself.  
  
"At least a couple hours," said Pietro.  
  
Lance carefully stretched his arms over his head, satisfied that he didn't have more than a few bruises and the headache. Pietro appeared to be in one piece, too. He only had a scrape down the left side of his chin, standing out against his pale complexion. Lance knew they had to do something about their situation before they got it any worse. "How long until your dad comes looking for you?"  
  
Pietro immediately shot him a look with narrowed eyes. "He doesn't keep tabs on me."  
  
"Yeah, well, you're the only one who knows how to contact him--"  
  
"I've told you a hundred times: He contacts _me._ As soon as I don't check in, he'll find us. Couple days."  
  
Lance snorted. "In a couple days we're going to be leftovers for whatever science experiment they try on us, Pietro."  
  
"Well, since I'm not psychic, I can't just call him over here!" he snapped. "Think of something else!"  
  
"If you had let us in on Magneto's stupid plan in the first place and we knew how to contact him, Toad and Blob could--"  
  
Pietro laughed, hard. "Oh get real, Lance! Those two haven't even noticed we're gone. They _might_ notice when the fridge is empty."  
  
Lance sighed, didn't bother to contradict him. Since it was probably true.  
  
A panicked feeling of helplessness was trying to claw its way up Lance's spine. He struggled to think, to plan, to keep from freaking out. First they had to find out where they were being kept, find a way out, hopefully without alerting the whole place--  
  
A sound registered with both mutants at the same time. The clank of unhurried footsteps on the metal floor brought Pietro up to the bars of his cell at the same time as Lance. The two shared a guarded look as the noise grew nearer.  
  
The single man who appeared was dressed in a nondescript, military-style uniform. The black fabric stretched over a muscular frame, thick shoulders and upper arms, the look of a guy commonly hired for security or as a bouncer. His expression was that of a predator. There was a holster at his waist.  
  
The man turned his back on Lance, facing Pietro's cell. The rock tumbler had a sinking feeling in his chest as he tried to figure out why a single guard had come down to them on his own.  
  
"Well look what we have here," sneered the man, his voice the husky snarl of a smoker.  
  
Pietro wasn't the type to tread cautiously. He returned the man's sneer with his own, but it fell off his face as he saw a hand fall on the guard's holster.  
  
The teen backed away as the gun came out, held loosely in the guard's large hand. The cell was so small that the speedster was pressed against the back wall with the third step. "Hey wait--w-what do you want?" he demanded, holding his hands up in front of him as if he could ward him off.  
  
The man looked the teen up and down. "Oh, the lab rats upstairs aren't quite ready to 'interview' you boys just yet," he drawled. "I thought you and me could have some one-on-one in the meantime."  
  
"Just try to catch me," Pietro hissed, even though he had nowhere to go; his blanched expression proved that he knew it.  
  
The guard chuckled and shook his head. "No, I don't think so."  
  
The gun went off. Rather than a bullet, a flash of red discharged through the bars of the cell. Some sort of energy weapon. Pietro screamed and fell, clutching his leg.  
  
Things had gotten out of control so fast. Lance grabbed the bars of his cell and yelled something, he wasn't really sure what it was, anything to get the man's attention away from his teammate. But the guard just pressed the keypad next to the cell and the bars slid into the wall.  
  
Pietro tried to slide backwards, dragging his leg away from the man, as a dark red stain spread across one thigh. But the man came after him, grabbed his wrists and hauled him to his feet.  
  
"What do you think you're doing!?" Pietro demanded, voice shrill with pain and outrage. He hung limply in the man's arms, unable to put weight on his leg. "L-let me go!"  
  
The man easily turned the slight teen around and pushed his face against the wall, holding him there with one broad hand circling both thin wrists. The other hand came down and groped the front of his jeans, causing the boy to cry out.  
  
"No!" Lance shouted, pounding on the bars of his cell. The man didn't glance in his direction, attention cruelly focused on his prey.  
  
His hand thumbed the button open on Pietro's jeans, fingers reaching inside. The mutant let out a string of curses and denials, cut off with a whimper as his pants and boxers were shoved down past his hips.  
  
The guard's broad body completely blocked the smaller form from Lance's view as Pietro let out a pained wail.  
  
Lance tried again to call on his powers. He only got another stabbing headache, and a feeling of helplessness that threatened to overwhelm him.  
  
His stomach clenched against the quiet grunts of exertion and the slap of flesh against flesh, and Pietro's small voice shuddering, begging something too fast to make out. Lance slammed his shoulder against his cell bars.  
  
Eventually the sounds stopped. The guard stepped back and dropped his burden. The slight teen slid to the floor in a boneless heap, unmoving.  
  
The guard was unhurried as he put himself away and zipped up his pants, ignoring the still form at his feet. Then he turned and looked right at Lance. The man wore a satisfied, satiated expression that made Lance's stomach curl.  
  
Lance glared back, his head pounding with the urge to open a fissure and drop him down under the earth. He stared into the man's eyes. "I will kill you," he vowed lowly.  
  
The guard laughed and stepped out of the cell, one hand slapping the wall panel to replace the bars. Pietro still hadn't made a move. Lance wasn't sure if he was conscious.  
  
Standing in front of his cell, just out of Lance's reach, the man looked him up and down. "Tempting, but you're not my type." He smirked. "If I find someone interested in you, tall and dark, I'll send them down here."  
  
Lance just glowered at the threat, not backing down. "Any time," he ground out. He needed the door open if he was going to get Pietro out of there, so he'd take whatever they tried to throw at him.  
  
The guard just laughed and turned away. Shaking with fury, Lance didn't move for a long time, until the echoes of the boots on the metal flooring faded away.


End file.
